


Plus Ça Change

by bananasandroses (achuislemochroi)



Series: Whofic [60]
Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: A Necessary Conversation (Part II), Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Season/Series 04, Tenth Doctor Era, To Days To Come
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-03
Updated: 2016-10-03
Packaged: 2018-08-19 09:09:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8199479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/achuislemochroi/pseuds/bananasandroses
Summary: Donna, like Martha before her, tries to get the Doctor to talk about Rose; this time, the conversation is easier.  Sort of.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Q&A](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8198974) by [bananasandroses (achuislemochroi)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/achuislemochroi/pseuds/bananasandroses). 



> This is set early on in Season Four.
> 
> The title’s French, and from the expression _plus ça change, plus c’est la même chose_ (which translates as ‘the more things change, the more they stay the same’).
> 
> The quote at the beginning is from _Year of the Flood_ , by Runrig.

_I shared your truth today._

“What about Rose?”

She’d been genuinely interested in the answer to the question; he’d been so broken on account of having lost Rose that first last time she’d met him. She’d seen a flash of something that looked like pain cross his expression and then watched him bite out an answer.

“Still lost.”

And that had been all she’d been able to get out of him then, and she’d let it drop. She’d get him to talk about her sometime – but it wasn’t the right time just then. One thing she’d learned from dealing with Nerys, not to mention from living with a mother who found fault with everything she said or did, was to pick her battles. She knew he’d have to come to terms with it at some point; something that, from his reaction to her earlier question, she suspected he still hadn’t done.

The ‘right’ time hadn’t come during her first adventure with him – the light-hearted visit to the ancient world that turned into a nightmare once they realised when and where they were. That trip had turned out to be such a harrowing experience that neither of them much wanted to talk about it. She’d had nightmares about it afterwards and suspected the same to be true about him – although she knew better than to expect him to admit to it even if it were.

And then they’d found the Ood. From his reaction to her request to hear the song they were singing, she felt that the best time to get him to talk about Rose was fast approaching. She’d seen him with a melancholy – almost longing – expression on his face when the Ood had told them that there was a place for them there, and she wondered whether he’d been thinking about _her_.

He seemed to be a little more relaxed these days, though – much more than he had been when she encountered him on her wedding-day-that-wasn’t, at any rate, and maybe this different frame of mind would be the key to getting him to talk. It was worth a try.

Once she’d decided what she wanted to do, being who she was, she waded right on in. When they were winding down in the TARDIS after bidding farewell to the Ood, she asked:

“Do you want to talk about it?”

She knew how sensitive he was about Rose, and she hoped he wouldn’t take her question the wrong way. Travelling in time and space with someone like the Doctor was easy to get addicted to; she wasn’t in the mood to give it up just yet, thanks. But she worried about him; bottling stuff up, as he seemed to do, wasn’t healthy for anyone – Time Lord or not.

“About what, exactly?”

The tone of his reply was a little cagey, but she’d become used to that by now – he was never sure what she’d say next, so he was a little wary of her. He had a smile on his face when he said it, though – a genuine one, she thought, although she had little idea what a proper smile from him looked like – so she wasn’t worried.

“About _her_. About Rose.”

The smile slipped, his expression changing to the haunted longing she’d seen before. He seemed about to say something, but she pre-empted him. “I know you’d prefer not to, and believe me I understand how that feels, but you have to talk about her at some point, Doctor. It’s just not healthy to keep it walled up like you’re doing.”

She saw him lower his head, and she looked away from him to give him a little privacy. She was quiet for a minute. She’d pushed a little, but the next move had to come from him.

“I told you, before. I lost her,” he said, in a small voice raw with pain. When Donna looked over at him she saw him turn his head away from her; she suspected that he didn’t like her to see him so vulnerable and it made her heart contract in pity for him.

“I remember you telling me that, yes,” she agreed, her tone gentle. She watched as the Doctor rubbed his hands over his face, trying to keep control of his emotions. The next words out of his mouth, in a choked tone, showed how fragile that control was.

“I promised myself that I wouldn’t weep for her, you know; she’s gone, not dead. She’ll be safe, now, where she is – safer than she’d ever be with me – and I made her promise me that if we were ever separated, then she’d have a fantastic li—”

He broke off, unable to continue, and Donna tore up in sympathy for him. Talking about Rose would do him good, but in the short term, it would _hurt_.

“It’s not weak to cry, you know,” she said, treading with care. The last thing she wanted was for all this to blow up in their faces, and it could so easily happen.

A strangled sob is all the reply the Doctor could muster. A few minutes passed, and when he had his emotions reined back again he tried again to speak. His voice wobbled, and the words all fell out in a rush as he tried to articulate what he was trying to say.

“I said to her to ‘have a fantastic life’. And she made me promise to do the same. But how am I supposed to have that without her? It would have happened, someday; but it wasn’t supposed to happen so soon. _Not like this_!”

His voice cracked on his last words, and Donna put out a hand towards him in a wordless gesture of comfort. He waved her away, obviously not comfortable with the idea, and she withdrew her hand. She was wondering now whether she’d pushed him too far.

He continued to speak, appearing determined to finish now no matter what it cost him.

“I love her, Donna. I love her so much that there aren’t words – in your language or mine – to describe it, and I never _told_ her. I let her stand there and tell me she loved me, tell me something I’d known for almost the entire time she was with me, and because I let myself babble on about nothing until our time was almost over I lost the chance to tell her I loved her too. She said she’d stay with me for ev—”

At that point – unable to complete his sentence – he broke down and wept. Catharsis, of a sort, at last – but at a heavy price.

Donna had lost the fight with the tears by this stage, too. Unable to stand there watching him in such distress without offering comfort, she moved around the room to where he was standing and put her hands on his shoulders. Her next words were gentle.

“She knew. You may not have said it aloud, but she _knew_. And it’ll get better, Doctor, someday. I can’t tell you when – and I wouldn’t dream of trying – but it _will_ get better. One day it’ll stop hurting so much; I can promise you that from personal experience.”

He said nothing, still weeping – healing tears, she hoped – and not caring what it looked like (for who else was there to see?), she pulled him into a hug, held him, and let him cry.

She knew she’d only scratched the surface, his grief ran so deep – but he’d been holding back so long that to help him she’d had to break him. The real healing would take longer – but tomorrow was soon enough to begin.


End file.
